Clear architecture of the night, discerned with difficulty in the landscape ... What hour - shaking being silent in the tower of darkness - death and life together devour them? Nothing untouched and healed. And useless bells are beating bitterly the cadence.
But for what and for whom? It's dark. Silence. Solitude. Squeeze your head between hands. Let yourself talked about and swung by the holy mouth of orphan god Lost form Friday to Friday in living emptiness- from the past -, of which the living ones and living ones and living ones - like from a big guilt - climbing the same - lighted- stairs.